o jest.

_Will._ Nay, I'll be bound not. Sa! Sa!

_Host._ Laugh an thou likest; but put up thy toasting-iron.

_Will._ Well, thou hast reason for thanksgiving.
But I think thy wife was right, if the poor
gentleman's thrust was drunken, 'twas a compliment to
thy wine. A scurvy rogue to ask for his money
when he was poor, and thy wine did affect him.

_Host._ But to speak seriously, good Will, what
bringeth thee here? Who is thy master! Can I
assist thee in anything?

_Will._ Well, I pity thee, and will say no more. My
master is young Arthur Walton. He hath returned.
He gave up the fortune to his brother Basil.

_Host._ I thought he was settled abroad.

_Will._ No! no! He is here, and now he wanteth
assistance from his brother; for we are in some
present straits, and this Basil will have nought to say
to him. What I shall want of thee is information of
the family; and mayhap thy daughter will have to
see Mistress Florence for us with a message.

[_Enter TAPSTER and two or three Roundhead Soldiers, L._]

_Tap._ Master, master! here be soldiers quartered on us.

_Will._ The Philistines be upon thee!

_Host._ O Lord!----be praised. See directly and
water the double ale--Tell my daughter to lock up
the Trinidado tobaccos--Haste!

[_Enter IRETON, HARRISON, and Soldiers, L.U.E._]

_Ire._ [_Reading Papers._] Give us to drink, good
measure; for the flesh is thirsty. That we have shall
be paid. Who is that fellow [_points to William_] with
his sword drawn?

_Har._ Ha! a malignant.--Smite him!

_Sold._ Lo! he shall die.

_Host._ Hold! hold! 'tis an innocent youth. He
did but draw his weapon to defy the evil one. He is
strong in prayer. [_To William aside._] Speak quickly,
an thou lovest thyself--something from Tobit, or the
Psalmody.

_Har._ Thou hearest--Sin-Despise! touch not the
youth. Lo, I myself have wrestled with the powers
of darkness. [_To William._] In what shape cometh he?

_Will._ With horns, an't please you, [_Aside._] very
like Master Newborn there.

_Har._ [_To himself._] With me 'tis different. In the curtain'd night,
A Form comes shrieking on me,
With such an edg'd and preternatural cry
'T would stir the blood of clustering bats from sleep,
Tear their hook'd wings from out the mildew'd eaves,
And drive them circling forth--
I tell ye that I fight with him until
The sweat like blood puts out my burning eyes.
Call you this dreaming?

_Will._ [_